


New Year's Eve, 1990

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-11-05
Updated: 2001-11-05
Packaged: 2018-11-20 04:56:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11329044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: It's the end of 1990, and two lost souls met for the first time.





	New Year's Eve, 1990

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

New Year's Eve, 1990 by yanthee

Title: New Year's Eve, 1990  
Author: yanthee  
Feedback:   
Webpage: http://www.geocities.com/yanthee  
Status: Complete  
Pairing: M/K  
Rating: NC-17  
Spoilers: Everything with Krycek in it  
Series: New Year Resolution #1  
Summary: It's the end of 1990, and two lost souls met for the first time.  
Notes: Huge thanks to my great beta, Bertina. All feedbacks are welcome (positive and negative).  
Disclaimer: I have no intention to make any profits from this

* * *

Contrary to popular belief, evil wasn't a grand theme. It wasn't a landmark that stuck out visibly like the Pyramids, it wasn't an exotic marker that could distinguish the extraordinary among the common, it wasn't alien, it wasn't out of touch, it wasn't Nero in the eyes of the first Christians, it wasn't Ramses in the eyes of Moses' Jews, and it certainly wasn't a red, fiery creature with a pointed tail that was so ugly no one could hardly manage to describe it.

No.

Evil was small. It was as small and ordinary as bacteria. It was so warmly familiar and normal nobody in this world would know or have it. It made home beneath toddler's snot, a teenager's tooth-brace, adult's hair dandruff, and old people's flabby skin. It was there and waiting.

Evil was in everyday life.

Anger. Jealousy. Envy. Greed. Gluttony.

That, he thought, was the summary of his 'religious enlightenment of the year'.

"That means," he giggled drunkenly to the freezing night. "Fox William Mulder is a basket of evil."

What a revelation!

He stretched both his arms out like a man being crucified. His arms slapped on moving shoulders attached to people who gave dirty curses. He was pushed back harshly, and would have stumbled down if his back hadn't connected with the cold, damp wall of the bar he had just exited. He grinned and yelled, "The Devil Incarnate! Sons of evil! Ooo... yeah!"

His declaration was answered immediately.

"Watch where you're going, asshole!"

"Fuck off!"

He nodded and smiled. "Exactly," he agreed as if those voices were actually questions he needed to answer correctly. "That's exactly what Bill Mulder had said to me."

He pushed his body away from the wall and tried to stand firmly on his two feet.

The world tilted.

"Whoa..." he blinked, realizing that the ground suddenly turned upward a few degrees. He instinctively swayed his body side to side, and watched with amazement that the asphalt moved like the deck of a ship during a stormy voyage.

Bodies bumped him continuously, pushing him away, and trapped him among the thickest of the crowd. He felt hands rummaging his flank but was too boneless to react. At some point, a pair of hands squeezed his crotch, making him giggle with confusion. Husky breath warmed his face, and hungry lips ate his mouth.

"Coo... you're handsome." An unfamiliar feminine voice was blown into his ear, making him grimace. "And absolutely drunk, too. Happy New Year, sweetheart."

He mumbled back, eyes too blurry to catch on the feature of those shadows crowding on his face. More hands squeezing and slipping under his coat, then under his shirt, making contact with his bare skin. He squealed with the ice-cold touches.

"Too cold, honey? Shit, Ginger, stop kissing him. Your disgusting lipstick is all over his face."

Lipstick?

He felt some fabric on his cheek, and then a moment later, his face was rubbed harshly with it, sending another vision of the world tilting and his body swung dangerously toward the ground.

Now, this. Was. Evil. No limits.

"Oh yeah." He nodded. "I'm evil."

The prince of hell. The follower of all temptations. It definitely suited him.

Giggles were heard, and his crotch was squeezed again. "Yes, indeed, honey. Yes, indeed."

The voice at his other ear whined. "Let's do him here, I can't stand it."

"Ginger, this is too crowded! And you haven't got any condoms left."

"Man, he's soo drunk. You push him, Candy; don't let him fall on his face. The stair is pretty steep. God, what is this place? Does the whole human population decide to come here? I can't move."

He was jolted and cajoled, and suddenly, his eyes were blinded with extreme bright light. Loud noises of the passing train deafened him. He stopped abruptly, and the sudden over-exposure on his senses made him swing backward. Harsh movement from all sides made him stumble, and before he knew it, he was sprawled on his back, inviting curses and angry epithets.

Something hard pushed on his chest and stomach repeatedly, making him flinch and cough violently. A sharp blow to his head made his already blurred and blinded sight burst into spots of stars. He vaguely realized that people were actually walking all over him. He felt himself about to faint, but not before he heard one of the voices that had accompanied the hands squeezing his crotch shout, "Candy! I lost him! Damn!"

Black.

Somehow, when he opened his eyes again, his sight was clearer. He blinked and saw that he was curled against the corner of some wall. His eyes were drawn to the crowded backs and feet, and felt himself being pushed as more people wanted to get in and claim any space. As if such a thing was still available.

Feeling nauseous but curiously clearheaded, he stood slowly, wincing when he felt his head pound incessantly. His eyes caught the sign above his head, UPTOWN, and noted that he was somehow stranded inside a subway stop. More bodies pushed in when incoming sounds of a train were heard, and before he knew it, he was swept by the mob and pushed painfully toward the opening door of the train car.

"Ummm..." he mumbled, trying to fight back, but gave up immediately, knowing it was futile. He chuckled to himself, "Evil. Such an evil."

He shook his head, feeling the cobweb of his drunkenness thin little by little. Hell, his headaches were good enough as drunk cures.

Shouts were heard behind him, and then suddenly a huge force threw him and the bodies in front of him forward. Angry shouts and surprise broke out, but it did nothing to help. He was squeezed tightly between bodies and another hard push slammed his back pushing the air out of his chest.

Panicky and suffocated, he tried to lift his arms, trying to grab on anything, but failed. His limbs were no longer his among the bodies. In fact, he wasn't quite clear whether his feet were touching the ground or not.

Angry sobs and frustration were heard around him. "Move a little, will ya?" and "I can't breathe!" Despite himself, he grinned and silently wished them good luck.

A moving momentum made another hard wave, and with horror he realized that his helpless body were harshly transported to another tight and painful huddle.

"Shit!" he yelled when his stomach landed on a sharp elbow, making him immediately ready to throw up.

"Sorry," a voice was heard, and he faintly realized that it came from the sharp elbow owner. A jolt pushed him again, and suddenly the whole front of his body, including his face, was squeezed and glued hard to a person in front of him.

He blinked. Crossly, his eyes tried to focus, only to fail because his sight space was practically reduced to nothing. A vast, clear green blinded him.

"Fuck," he tried to mumble, feeling a fold of... skin was blocking the movement of his lips.

An agonized chuckle fluttered on his face, warming him with hot, damp air immediately. "Boy, you're so drunk."

The push behind his head lessened, and he realized he finally was able to move his head back a little.

Okay. He was squeezed against a man.

A man with the same height, he was practically face to face with him.

"If you weren't so tall you wouldn't smell it," he said crossly. What could he possibly do? The space only allowed him to move his head back several inches and saved him from the embarrassment of kissing a stranger and poisoning them with his bad breath.

The eyes, where the green that had blinded him before came from, narrowed into focus. A glimmer of amusement passed in them. "Wasn't so bad. Kinda used to."

The train jolted violently, his head swayed again. His nose bumped hard with the man's, making them both yell painfully together.

"Shit, shit, shit," the man with the green eyes squeezed them shut hard. There were tears of pain hanging on his long eyelashes.

"What the hell is with this train?" he almost shouted but was drowned out by other people's groans. Apparently, they weren't the only casualties. "Sorry," he sighed to the green-eyed man. "What stop are we just leaving?"

"Times Square," the green-eyed man grimaced. "You have a steel-hard nose."

"I wonder if the crowd will lessen at the next stop," he said miserably. His nose was also in pain actually, but he couldn't even manage to get his hand up to rub it.

"I doubt it."

As if from bad karma, the light suddenly flickered and blacked out. Screams of surprise erupted, before a red, emergency light lit.

"Now, what." His head was in pain, and the nausea was paralyzing. Why did he leave the bar so early? It might be better if he drank himself to death instead of this.

The subway train slowed, and stopped completely. Among the sea of heads, he thought he saw through the window that they finally reached the next stop. This short journey was a ridiculously painful experience, and he must get out right away.

He waited.

"Open the door!" somebody shouted. Then a moment later, several people shouted the same thing.

"Uh-oh," the green-eyed man said.

"What took this so long?" he tried to crane and turn his neck, but only got his nose bumped by the green-eyed man's again. Gently this time. "Sorry."

The man only smiled.

One clear voice hollered, "It won't open!"

Then all hell broke loose.

The mob was waving dangerously under the emergency light, and hard kicks were heard on the car doors. Curses were erupted again, until an intercom blared. "Please step back. Please step back. The door won't open if you keep on pushing on them."

He rolled his eyes. "We are going to die here."

The green-eyed man chuckled. "What's your name?"

"Huh?"

"I bet we're going to stuck together longer than we thought. At least let me know how I can call you."

He snickered. "Fair enough. It's Mulder."

"Just Mulder?"

Prince Evil Mulder, he suddenly remembered, then grimaced. "Fox."

The green eyes' pupils danced with amusement. "Nice name."

"No thanks to you." Mulder smiled. "You?"

"Alex Krycek."

"Friend of Gorbachev?"

"Not as much as you being a relative to Moses."

"Ha."

"Yeah, ha."

The angry mob was now hysterical. "Let us out, dammit!" someone screamed, and more banging were heard.

"The doors are sooo not going to open," Krycek mumbled. The mob made several dangerous waves and sobs were heard.

"I'm still drunk," Mulder sighed miserably. "This kind of movement will either kill me or make me vomit on your face."

Krycek's eyes widened. "Shit."

The intercom blared again. "Ladies and gentlemen. Due to a sudden technical problem with the doors, we will go straight to Port Authority to request assistance. Please do not push on the doors, and we request all of you to remain calm. We're sorry for the inconvenience."

Boos and angry outbursts were heard, and the train jolted again in movement.

"It'll take forever to reach 34th street at this speed," Mulder grumbled, silently calculating the distance between Port Authority stop and his hotel.

"Hang on, I got the feeling this is gonna get bumpy."

The first bump drove someone's head onto Mulder's back, pushing him forward and smacked him right onto Krycek's face.

"Damn..oh."

Jesus, his lips was glued to Krycek's.

"Told you so." The green blinded his vision again, and he was painfully aware of the feeling of lips moving on his mouth. Damn. If he spoke...

"Sorry," he whispered. But the 'o' on his word had made their lips produce a wet kissing noise.

"It's okay," Krycek whispered back, and Mulder's whole body suddenly shivered. The rhythm of 't' and 's' had transferred wetness from Krycek's tongue onto his fat lower lip; the 'o' had made them produce a wet kissing noise again, the 'a' had opened the man's mouth, and the 'y' had made that mouth close back but around his lips. Trapping his mouth inside.

They were kissing without really kissing.

No longer aware that this was a man that was kissing him without really meaning to kiss him, the situation automatically sent his brain a jolt of stimulation so strong, his crotch hardened immediately, his skin sensitized ten times higher, and his body shivered with anticipation.

Faintly, he felt something else on his crotch and dumbly realized that something hard was suddenly crushing against his own. Whatever it was, it was from the man in front of him.

Just a fraction of a second passed, before his brain finally managed to receive the rather slow signal and revelation of his erogenous zone being stimulated, making him aware that his hard cock was now pushing on the other man's hard cock. His brain did something funny though, because suddenly he undulated his hips and the friction made his eyes see stars.

He mumbled "Oh God", but because his lips were now trapped inside Krycek's mouth, the movement had meshed their tongues.

Something strong, and probably divine, Mulder thought later on, had made him strong enough to move his face sideways, releasing his mouth, but comfortably parking his lips on the corner of Krycek's lips, as well as the other way around.

"So.. sorry," he tried again in a small voice. Krycek's lips were making tiny movements on the corner of his mouth, and it took him sometime to realize that the man was not talking, but actually produced reaction-based little kisses on him for real.

He lost it.

As if harmonizing with the swaying car, his undulating hips were now moving bravely.

This was automatic; the remaining of his sanity informed him. Man or woman, this kind of situation was overstimulating enough, no one could be blamed for what was happening.

The thought turned out to be the final hurdle of his awareness, because with that in mind, his brain gave up, and he released the remaining control he had.

A growl was heard against his ear, and the moving lips on the corner of his mouth suddenly shifted and caught the fat of his mouth again.

"Mmmmullldeerrr...," Krycek's lips danced on his mouth. Mulder gasped when he felt his undulating hips being met with moving hips doing a circular movement.

He stopped his back and forward movements, then moved it in a corkscrew counter clockwise.

No longer able to control himself, Mulder opened his mouth and swallowed Krycek's lips, and without paying any attention to anybody who was too panicked to actually notice anything at all, they were kissing hotly.

"Ooooh... ooooh..." Mulder whispered when his mouth gaped open sideways, trying to draw in some air.

"Jesus, don't make that noise," Krycek growled, his voice heavy with lust, bathing his ear. "Or I'll...I'll..." His hips grinded violently and glued to Mulder's, following every movement Mulder was making, seemingly unable to release it even for a single moment, and wanting to crawl inside his pants.

"Oh, oh, oh, oh..." Mulder didn't care. Too drunk, literally and sexually, to even try. Lord, he was so vocal.

Some miracle happened to Krycek, because suddenly he managed to force both of his arms from the confining bodies, and then clutch Mulder's buttocks, pushing him, and locking him securely to his hips.

They swallowed each other's mouth again, until suddenly Mulder froze and spasmed violently. A hot gush flooded the front of his pants, and he came and came for a long moment.

"I came," Mulder whispered in a choking voice.

"Already?" Krycek growled, wanting to capture his mouth again, hips now thrusting more forcefully, making faint noises of 'slap, slap, slap'.

The swaying car bumped so harshly this time sending a mob of bodies impacted on them so hard, throwing Mulder back violently.

"Oh shit!" Krycek shouted, losing his grip on Mulder, noticing the sudden emptiness in front of him. His hips were still moving violently; unable to stop himself though it was now only meeting air and empty space.

Mulder blinked with surprise, and gasped when he saw unfamiliar bodies now surrounded him. "Alex!" he yelled automatically.

"Fox! Shit! Where are you?"

Luckily, they were both quite tall; he managed to see a shade of Alex's form above the sea of sobbing women separating them.

"I---." What the hell was he supposed to do? He couldn't move, let alone get back to Krycek.

And why did he need to get back to Krycek?

His damp front slapped his muddled brain to reality. What the fuck did he do?

"Mulder!"

Shit! Krycek's face was full of agony, it felt like being doused with cold water. Had he just...?

The car jolted to a stop, and suddenly the doors were opened, and the mob swayed heavily, pushing frantically, and swept him toward the open door.

"Alex, I'm going out!" he managed to yell amidst the crowd, not knowing if the green-eyed man he had just masturbated against heard him.

The crowd, noticeably panicky, swept him in such an unstoppable force, Mulder felt his feet bumped into a stairwell and before he knew it, he found himself standing on a pavement beside the city street.

"Fuck!" he swore violently. Every part of his body, which was tingling happily, wanted him to turn back. He stood beside the stairs leading to the subway stop, watching desperately for a familiar pair of green eyes among the stream of people coming out from the train that seemed to be infinite.

God, he was hot. He was so hot his crotch was now hard again; he thought he could kill a man with it.

He was straight, goddammit. He never kissed a man, let alone slept with one, but right now, he just wanted to do it. Wanted it so bad. He practically didn't even care whether that Alex Krycek was handsome or not, because he realized that he didn't really pay any attention about his looks. All he knew was that his kiss was incredible, and friction of two cocks was like the big bang of Fourth of July, Christmas, and New Year's fireworks combined.

Fidgeting impatiently, he realized that maybe Krycek didn't manage to get out, and a wave of despairing disappointment paralyzed him.

Five minutes. Ten minutes.

Where the hell was he?

Almost fifteen, and he gave up. His cock was so hard; he couldn't wait a single minute more. He needed to get back to his hotel and jerk off.

He grimaced in despair, and walked away. Some sort of resolution was formed in his head. He would get a trick tomorrow, the first man he saw, and do those.... those.... incredible things that he had just done.

A yellow cab stopped in front of him and he waited for the lady inside it to get out.

He had just put one foot in it when a loud yell hollered into the night sky. "FOX MULDER!"

Mulder jumped so high, he stumbled and dropped onto the pavement on his butt. But his brain was still paralyzed, he just let his instinct take over.

"ALEX KRYCEK! Over here!"

From the darkness of the night, he saw a man running toward him, and he felt his heart drumming so hard and fast he thought his chest was going to burst.

The face suddenly emerged, so clear and bright under the neon light nearby. He didn't really recognize that face, but those eyes were familiar.

"Oh God, you're so handsome," Krycek said with desperation in his voice, eyes wild and his conscience completely abandoned.

And, lo and behold, so was he! This Krycek wasn't ugly at all. At all.

Mulder's heart was now no longer drumming. It stopped.

"I want to sleep with you," Krycek's hands stretched and trapped his arms forcefully. "I'm straight and married," Krycek said in a trembling voice like a man ready to cry. "I've never done this with a guy... but... you... I need to... I-- I have to."

Good God. Mulder couldn't even breathe. He knew that if some divine force didn't let his heart start beating again, he would die on the spot.

"Get in," Mulder finally croaked.

Krycek, wild like a mad man, jumped into the cab, pulling Mulder in violently and shouting to the driver, "Waldorf, please!"

Waldorf?

But Mulder lost his wonder completely when those same luscious lips swallowed his mouth again.

*******************************

January 1, 1991

If one asked Mulder about his first time with a man, there was no doubt that he would tell them that the sex was... spectacular. It was, indeed, a mindblowing experience that should be marked and saved in his memory as one of his 'religious revelation'. Yet, if one asked him about what exactly they did, then they would think that the answer was ironic. Nothing.

Both men didn't even get naked.

In the twenty minutes cab drive to the Waldorf, he and Alex Krycek came only from kissing. The smell of male breath, a mixture between alcohol, tobacco, and fading aftershave; the hint taste of stubble and light hair that wasn't suppose to be there; and earthshattering sucking and tongue plays only a man could do, were gestures so alien and unfamiliar they became extremely exotic and intoxicating that triggered their excitement to the height of the seventh heaven.

A dose of reality had come when they encountered the bright lights of the hotel lobby, forcing them to be aware of themselves, the concealed wet spots on their pants, and the fact that they were about to do it with a man. But those things had only triggered modesty and shyness instead of panic and revulsion. That night, Mulder later on admitted, they were so sure of what they wanted not even the apocalypse could change their hearts. All of it together had become what he described as a 'religious experience'. The impossible happened, as if there was a divine intervention to reveal their fate, despite the fact that such fate had practically thrown them from one universe into another when they had believed it existed as a single entity.

If only there were other people watching, there was no doubt that the tableau they performed the minute the room's door locked behind their back might be one of the most amusing things. Krycek was standing rigidly with his back glued to the door, both palms pressed to it, while Mulder stood some three feet away from him so correctly frozen in place that an etiquette guru, or a ballet teacher, would applause him. Both men's eyes were bulging out and unblinking like a fish, and their throats were producing loud sounds of gulps so often anyone expected their stomachs would soon get full simply by swallowing saliva.

That happened only for a minute, though, because Mulder became brave, and the next thing they knew they were rolling on the floor, swapping spit again, bruising their lips that were still so tender and red with friction and tongues that were starting to numb, with breaths as loud and harsh as running horses...

..and came again.

Then they peeled on their long coats and pants, accidentally rubbed their hardened (again!) crotches together, realizing that only some thin layer of wet underwear were separating their cocks, and all thoughts of taking off their shirts were gone. Their hips were moving savagely again, doing the back and forth dancing that their clashes were producing wet slapping sounds and made them flop violently like stranded fish, which allowed for Mulder's favorite screwing movement, rotating in a circle with a diameter so huge they were practically christening the whole carpet with sweat from their butts. It was a lost cause. The eruption was still so impressively intense and 'destroying' the only thing that differed on this climax from the previous ones was the length of time it took to achieve it.

And boy, were they loud. It was a big wonder that no one called 911, the glasses weren't broken, and walls weren't tumbling down. All because Mulder suddenly was able to imitate a banshee's shrieks and Krycek managed a perfect seventeenth century's castrato singer's highest note on the eighth octave. Very impressive amorous sounds.

It was no wonder that after such explosive multiple orgasms, both men dropped to sleep immediately and deeply.

On the floor.

With shirts still buttoned, though ruined, and underwears heavily wet with flooding semen.

That, Mulder emphasized later on, was what made it fall into the category of spectacular.

Apparently, Krycek was a morning person, because by the time Mulder opened his eyes and squinted later due to the sudden harshness of bright morning light from the uncovered window, he knew immediately that the man wasn't anywhere near him.

Feeling his stiff body and throbbing head, he spent a long minute staring at the ceiling, trying to contemplate the jumble of confusing thoughts and a curious sense of disappointment. Disappointment over what he apparently had done the other night? Nope. That, had fallen to the category of unthinkable that needed to set aside for a moment. Nope. The disappointment came from the realization of wanting a warm greeting but not getting it.

Finally, he pushed himself up to sit.

"Krycek?" Amazing. He remembered the man's name, and didn't even pretend to forget it.

No answer.

He turned his head around, noting his long coat at the front of the door, his pants at the front of a coffee table, and finally noticed an unfamiliar leather coat covering one of the bed's side tables.

Phew.

Wherever Krycek was at the moment, he was planning to get back.

Mulder groaned and put his head on both of his hands. Memories ambushed him in full color. Funny, he had thought that he was drunk enough last night, yet, apparently he remembered each and every single second of what he and the man he just bumped into on the underground train did the whole night.

Holy shit.

He had slept with a man.

He scratched his crotch and was dismayed to feel underwear hardened into a crust.

Well, technically&#8230;not exactly, he thought with a hint of amusement.

Thinking that nothing productive would come out of him by just sitting like an idiot in the middle of the floor, Mulder got up, grabbed his pants, and went to shower.

He got out feeling fresh and strangely... invigorated to find Alex Krycek sitting on the bed.

"Umm," he said intelligently.

Krycek, clearly had had taken a shower himself before Mulder ever managed to pass the land of the unconsciousness, smiled at him shyly.

"Umm," he answered back.

Okay. The morning after was always awkward, but this was just plain weird.

"I need to get going," Mulder said, wondering why he didn't feel that way despite the urge to just run away and hide. He felt a flood of relief when he saw Krycek's face fell.

"Oh."

"Umm. Well."

"If you have to."

"Well," Mulder swallowed. "I have to." His face burned. "Do I have to?"

Krycek's eyes widened.

Then suddenly, out of nowhere, both men burst out laughing. And giggling. Giggling. Giggling maniacally, and of course nervously, like some schoolgirls on their first embarrassing date.

"Fuck, we did it, huh?" Mulder grinned sheepishly, but also shyly. His brain kept saying, "Get it out your system, get it out your system", he knew that admitting it vocally would help himself from overanalyzing the situation.

"Yeah," Krycek returned his grin just as shyly. His face was as red as a lobster, but his green eyes twinkled. "Weird, huh?"

Weird. As if there was another word fit enough to describe the whole thing.

Mulder nodded, pretending that the wallpaper behind Krycek's back was very interesting. Then he fidgeted, not knowing if he should just stand there or sit beside Alex Krycek on the bed. "Where were you?"

"Oh," he heard Krycek's sheepish tone. "In the lobby. Looking for coffee."

Mulder finally saw the two plastic cups on the coffee table.

"I...I just wanted to take a little walk," Krycek said again in a softer tone. "Not that I want... I mean..."

"Hey," Mulder smiled and braved himself to stare at the stricken face. "It's okay to freak out. I mean, I probably would, considering...," he trailed off, not able to continue.

Krycek blinked, and relaxed. He looked relieved. "Yeah."

Mulder bit his lip. "Well, we're not exactly doing it, anyway."

Damn, the man blushed again. So furiously, Mulder realized that his skin complexion was incredible. His face was perfectly rosy that he had to admit that the man in front of him was certainly pleasing to the eyes. This provoked some deep satisfaction in him which produced some sudden embarrassing urges and, in reaction, propelled him to also... blush. Again.

Jesus.

"Yeah, in a manner of speaking," Krycek swallowed. "But... but... we actually... uh..."

"Can we just skip the graphic detail?" Mulder cursed himself for not being able to control the heat on his face. "Otherwise we'll die from blushing."

They looked each other, and burst out laughing again.

"So."

"So."

"Happy New Year."

Krycek gave him a look, grinning stupidly.

Mulder took a step forward, found himself sitting beside Krycek, took one of the plastic cups, and took a sip. Excellent. Five-star hotel coffee. He felt himself smiling like an idiot.

"Want to have breakfast?" Krycek looked at him with a soft, gentle gaze.

Damn. His heart drummed again. Mulder nodded.

**********************

Breakfast turned out to be a catalyst of acute embarrassment and nervousness. Stomach filled with some excellent danish and jams, ham and eggs, orange juice and coffee, both men finally overcame their shyness.

Time to be logical and clinical.

"So, this was your first time?" Mulder asked frankly. Their conversation was actually pretty comfortable, and he was aware of his reluctance to escape the pleasant atmosphere of being with the other man. It was clear that Krycek felt the same thing. They had lingered in the coffee shop for far too long, and made too many excuses by filling up their plates repeatedly to prolong their togetherness.

"Yeah."

"No jerk off session in school or something like that before?"

Krycek gave him a sidelong glance. "Well, jerking off together, yeah... But 'together' means just that. Each hands go to their own... uh, you know what I mean."

Mulder nodded.

"What about you?"

"Yeah. Same thing." Mulder pursed his lips. "You're married?"

Krycek swallowed and diverted his eyes elsewhere. It took sometime for him to answer. "Yeah. Almost a year now."

"Expecting a child soon?"

"Not yet. We'll wait until we're thirty."

"Which is when?"

"In five years."

"If you are planning it, you shouldn't wait too long. Things happen."

Krycek looked at him. "You married too?"

"Divorced. Things happen."

"Oh."

Oh, indeed. His marriage with Diana was a complete disaster. He was impulsive, she was adventurous. Both were excited with their bravery to commit after a week-long, but intense affair. Both were also gleeful with their ability to shock each and every one of their friends and families with such a crazy decision. But after that, there was just no more other excitements. They were completely incompatible, too selfish and individualistic, enjoyed shocking people more than living comfortably, and simply not ready to make lifelong commitments. It was ironic that the sudden divorce, as surprising as their marriage, was the last of their mutual glee in challenging their social circles.

Mulder toyed with his cup, and studied Krycek's face surreptitiously.

The man had a symmetrical, well proportioned face, straight nose, straight eyebrows, and deep eyes. According to Mulder's standard, it was an intelligent face. This was not a face of a narrow-minded person, nor a reserved or unadventurous character. In fact, it was a face that seemed able to absorb many things, analyze difficult things, and invent original thoughts. Its prominent bones suggested strong determination and a need to be constantly challenged. It was neither open so nakedly, or closed so sternly, that it seemed to be able to filter exaggeration and enhance understatement, people couldn't resist mentioning that he had the 'just right' face. Just right. Pleasantly so.

Mulder carefully noted that it was also a very charismatic but strangely exotic face that could easily drive women crazy.

Overall, he liked it. Very much. In fact it tantalized him so much, he couldn't resist prodding deeper. Something haunting in his brain pushed out, and before he knew it, he blurted it out.

"What do you think about Evil?"

Krycek watched him dumbfounded. It took several seconds for him to talk back with a wary expression. "Why such a question? Are you a priest?"

"I'm Jewish," Mulder snorted. "Can't you guess that already?"

"Oh, I already did. But with the converts and all... I mean, why ask about Evil so suddenly?"

Mulder shrugged. "Just wanting to ask your opinion about it."

Krycek looked at him thoughtfully. It was clear that he had done his own face-study and he was in the middle of making some conclusions regarding the personality of Fox Mulder.

"Evil is about abnormality," he answered finally.

Mulder stared then swallowed.

The next thing he knew, he was ambushed with a strong sudden urge to jump and whoop. He didn't know what Krycek had meant but he was elated to hear an answer he regarded as clever. He realized that he was expecting the man to make some kind of deep, original comeback, and this answer seemed to meet his hope. He couldn't suppress his joyful grin though.

Not expecting Mulder's idiotic grin, Krycek's guarded expression changed abruptly into confused amazement.

"Why is it about abnormality?" Mulder pushed. His heart sped faster.

"Because it will unbalance the whole thing," Krycek said softly. "Destroying the establishment and common norms."

"So, you mean being abnormal or shall we say, abnormal behavior, is evil?"

Krycek smiled, "No. Not being abnormal. But making abnormality. We can't judge something that's given."

"Like, turning greedy when common norms are about simple fulfillment? Forcing to have more out of equal distribution?"

"Yes. Being a capitalist in a world of socialist, or maybe... vice versa."

"Ha."

"Or lying when honesty is a necessity to simplify communication."

"In other words, complex communication is an act of evil itself, when instead we can come up with a simple conversation."

"Correct." Alex laughed softly. "Weird, huh?"

"No," Mulder shook his head vehemently. "I see your point."

"Of course we're talking about the meaning of evil according to my point of view. What I'm saying has nothing to do with the standard, dogmatic religious explanation."

"Yes, yes. Abnormality, huh? Some people will say that abnormality is the means of man achieving things further, you know. Copernicus and Galileo discovered solar system and earth rotation through their attempt to challenge the regular norms of their religion."

"According to the priests they had conducted evil, hadn't they? And speaking of religious practice at that time, weren't the social status of the priests and the church systems itself had been an abnormality according to the standard it was formed almost two thousands years before? Hasn't the conduct of the so-called priests at the time an act of evil itself?"

Mulder grinned, "Are you a communist?"

"Catholic orthodox." Krycek laughed.

"Wow," Mulder stared at him with awe. "So, you despise abnormality?"

"Despise?" Krycek was curiously startled. "I don't know. 'Despise' sounds so strong, doesn't it?" He looked thoughtful. "I honestly don't know. All I'm sure is that the average person would avoid it, and the person who committed it would get a separate label."

He turned his curious eyes toward Mulder. "What do you think about evil?"

"It's as normal as bacteria," Mulder said sheepishly, reminiscing his religious revelation last night.

"As normal as bacteria? Man, you're weirder than I thought," Krycek laughed heartily.

"Yes. It's a micro thing, you know. And everybody has it."

Krycek's eyes widened with amusement and something else Mulder couldn't fathom. "Intriguing."

"Evil is a temptation, you know. Everyone always secretly wanting to taste it," Mulder said seriously. "So, your temptation is irregularity, and mine is small things that can explain everything."

"That, my friend, is a good conclusion," Krycek laughed again.

"What did you do?"

Krycek cocked his head to one side and answered in an ironic exaggeration. "I'm a cop. I keep things as regular and as normal as possible."

"A cop staying at the Waldorf?" Mulder's eyes widened. "Who pimps you?"

Krycek smiled widely. "I'm filling in for someone at a convention tomorrow, and the organizer put me here. It's pure luck. You?"

"FBI agent," Mulder said. If a cop was an occupation not embarrassing for Krycek, then an FBI agent wasn't either.

Krycek looked at him incredulously, seemingly unable to perform any other words. "Cool."

They smiled to each other.

New Year's optimistic atmosphere, lingering festive spirits, and the fact that New York City was actually a romantic place that leant magic to the air.

Both men were unable to separate, and they spent the whole first day of January together. They walked for a long time, deep in serious conversation that covered almost everything; life as a cop and as an FBI agent, movies, music, hobbies, biology and astronomy theories, philosophical things on everything, religious revelations, AIDS, sex and homosexuality, and of course, their attraction of each other.

The latter subject came up when they were confined inside the underground train, reminiscing every silly second of their encounter the night before, and almost died from the fit of giggles they couldn't control. Mulder admitted that the only thing he was aware of Krycek by the time they kissed and rubbed each other for the first time was the most beautiful green eyes he had ever seen. Krycek thought that Mulder's bad breath was extremely erotic, as well as his steel-bone nose. Then, slowly but surely, they unfolded like young flowers on their first brush with the morning sun.

"I think you're the prettiest man I've ever seen," Krycek said, aware of being overdramatic but couldn't manage not to.

"I doubt that." Mulder smiled, completely flattered. "Though maybe its because you've never noticed any other men before."

"And you're very hot," Krycek whispered, face red again.

Mulder bent his head, glanced around them, though the sparse inhabitants of the train car didn't pay them any attention, bless the New York City air of indifference. Then he briefly touched his forehead to Krycek's right shoulder. The simple but short gesture was so touching, Krycek suddenly stopped breathing for a moment.

"I think you're marvelous, too, nothing could describe it enough," Mulder whispered back.

Faces only mere inches from each other, the electric feeling they had experienced before suddenly jolted back to life. With eyes locked to each other in an intense, fiery gaze, Mulder swallowed, "God, I want to kiss you."

And they did.

Freezing on one of Central Park's benches, relatively deserted from any other people, they kissed, and kissed, and kissed. Made out. Necking. Frenching. Maybe for hours, minutes, God only knew.

Somehow, the wild, uncontrollable urges had dimmed a little. No more teenage-like overexcited climaxes, because they had made the kissing and cuddling comfortable enough. If one of them got too excited, the other slowed down a little, prolonging it with simple rubs and starting again up until they needed to slow down again.

It was like heaven.

Therefore, when a park ranger coughed at them and pointed out the looming darkness of winter's premature sunset, they separated without too much embarrassment. They reluctantly left the Park.

Mulder glanced at his wrist watch dully.

His sudden wooden face told Krycek things. "You have to go."

"Yes," Mulder swallowed. "I've got to catch the bus."

"Where to?" Krycek whispered. They had walked with their hands curled to each other, and his whisper was followed by a significant tightening on Mulder's hand. A sign of reluctance to let go.

"Boston," Mulder sighed. "I've got to meet my parents."

Krycek sighed too. "Well."

"Yeah, well."

"I wish I can ask your address." There was sorrow on Krycek's tone. "But it wouldn't be right."

"Absolutely wrong." Mulder nodded dully. "It won't happen again."

"Yeah. We're straight," Krycek chuckled. "Though I doubt that explains everything."

"It's incredibly pleasant, though. I'm not sorry at all."

"Yeah."

They spent their time to Port Authority in silence. Hands were still clutching together.

It was strange. Both men suddenly feeling so bold and brave. They didn't even care about some sidelong glances on their obvious display of togetherness, a thing that probably would freak them to death before. It was as if they were fighting the world together, and they were proud of it.

Finally, on the platform of the bus station, Mulder released Krycek's hand.

"It's weird, Alex, but I felt like confessing an undying love for you," he laughed. "Boy, I'm freaked."

Alex grinned, but it quickly dimmed. "I'm reluctant to see you go, too, you know."

"This is too weird."

"Says you. It's damn too frightening as well."

"Well." Mulder patted softly on Krycek's cheek. "It's a good thing that we won't see each other again."

Krycek didn't answer.

"I mean," Mulder sighed. "It's probably not a good thing, but..."

"Yeah," Krycek interjected quickly. "I have a wife, you know."

They exchanged helpless smiles once more.

"Good bye, abnormal," Mulder whispered.

"Good bye, bacteria," Krycek laughed softly.

Later on, Mulder remembered that the journey to Boston that night was the first journey he had ever managed with a mind as blank and barren as the Sahara desert.

THE END

  
Archived: November 02, 2001 


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